TIDAL HAEMORRHAGE SUN GRIP

 

Today, aches from within. Not the day but us inside it. 

(SACRIFICE EVERYTHING FOR NEW GROWTH)

The point between here and then, aches as if inside a body. 

 (BRUTE ABUTMENTS OF DURATION.)

That was the point of what we were trying to say, “Come wither with me.”  

(PLEASE CHASTISE ME)

Collapse and spread out in a heap of bliss. “Take it from me it’s one of those coke addict website typos,” she distilled it with a glance of microscopic contempt; that was enough to conclude matters. Totally out-to-space bone tired weighed down by memories of repetitive work but not. 

(TOKENS OF MY SINCERE LUST)

Like 50 years at the jam factory WITH ‘Big Mary’. Noble intentions lightly prey on words that evoke an envoy of grand regard from that you distinguish the guts of narrative. Cold cabbage fields feel collapsed corn cusk under wet frost rubber glove tantric Atman.  

(REJOIN YOUR FRIENDS IN THE HEALING FIELD)

Now corpse pose into a new vision map; one that takes an aggregate approach to the alluvium of sediment for concrete rights. Oral fleets come through on the brackish to preach up new builds; clear everything in sight to uphold vision rights on sheer glass upwards concurrent with the seraphim that enchant market bandwidths holding grip tight on today’s trading. 

(THIS WILL BE THE SUMMER FOR FESTIVAL FUN)